


Potato peeling

by Itsthemooface



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Romance, Slice of Pirate Life, This is so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsthemooface/pseuds/Itsthemooface
Summary: Sanji's never had an assistant before, but now, at least once a week, Nami's there to keep him company.
Relationships: Nami & Vinsmoke Sanji, Nami/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 23
Kudos: 82





	1. Late night conversations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Safr2n](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safr2n/gifts).



> I shared one of my head canons with Monkey-d-momo and then the next day it kind of spiralled out of control in my head, to the point where I had to leave my half-destroyed Animal Crossing island to come and write this out. So, this is for you, Momo!
> 
> Enjoy.

Sanji made a point not to think too deeply about his childhood before Baratie, but now he’s racking his brain in search for a time, any time, that he could ever remember having an assistant in the kitchen. Not other chefs that were working around him on their own dishes or bus boys or dish washers, someone by his side just to help him. Although, when he thought about it, back then he would have refused the help, with his ego far too proud as a fledging chef.

He spent a lot of time alone cooking and there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s what he was trained to do, and he enjoyed it. Enjoyed creating dishes that’ll fill empty stomachs and watching as delight bloomed across his crewmates face when they took their first bite. But now, as Nami hummed next to him, eyebrows drawn together in concentration as she stirred the sauce in the pot, he realised how much he liked having an assistant. How much he liked having the company.

It also helped that it was fantastic company. Nothing gets better than Nami-san.

The first time she’d walked in to offer help, he’d tried to persuade her to relax instead, in the kitchen of course because he’d never turn her away, but she hadn’t listened. She’d fixed him with a hard stare as his words rolled over her and held her hand out, waiting for a knife to help him peel potatoes.

That was a few weeks ago now, and he’s glad she didn’t listen to him. His kitchen is now filled with humming, quiet conversations or peaceful silences- with someone. It’s nice. It’s not every day, after all she’s the navigator, not the cook and she does have other responsibilities. But those little moments together, at least once per week now, made him start to notice the difference. Nothing bad, he still loved to cook but there’s no one peering over his shoulder to see what he’s doing or how he’s doing it (or asking for food- Luffy) or shooting him wonderfully smart remarks that bring a smile to his face or… well, he could go on all day.

They get along very well in those small moments together, when they’re not fighting for their lives or surrounded by the rest of the crew and it makes him happy. He got to see her truly relaxed, walls down, and their actions are almost domestic, and it made his head spin slightly. He tried not to think too much about that though when he’s dealing with sharp objects or high temperatures.

But he does wonder what spurred this on, the thought lingered in the back of his head. Her offer came completely out of the blue and they’d already been sailing together for so long, so naturally he wondered why. She’d never offered any explanation and he hadn’t asked, because why would he? He was thrilled to have time alone with her and to pass on his knowledge to someone who was so interested.

She hadn’t helped him tonight though, not that she said she would, mind you. Sometimes she’d mention in passing that she’d be there but other times she’d just appear, and it kept him on his toes.

After dinner though, as she put her plate on the side (just before he could get it for her), she left him with a quick, “See you later” and was gone. Maybe he was becoming too predictable because whilst dinner may be finished with, she knew he would occasionally prep ingredients for the next day and apparently, he’d have her company for that tonight without even breathing a word of it.

He couldn’t wait.

.

.

.

As much as he’d like to wait for her, that’s never how this worked. Sometimes she’d come later, depending on whether she got held up with something, so he always started, and she’d join in.

Tonight, he went to the toilet after organising the potatoes he’d need for the next day but on his short trip he didn’t catch sight of her. That wasn’t necessarily bad, but it could mean she’d been distracted with something. It was foolish, because he knew how this worked and he shouldn’t expect this from her, but he was slightly disappointed. He shook his head; he was being ridiculous.

Despite giving himself a talking to in the toilet, it didn’t stop his eyes from drifting to see if the orange haired navigator was around. He was sorely tempted to knock on the library door to offer her a drink, just to confirm it but he stopped his feet from wondering off course.

So when he pushed open the door to the kitchen, he couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping to stare at the sight of Nami already sat down on one of the stools, knife carefully peeling the potato in her hands.

So, she’d beaten him here, huh?

He didn’t get the chance to compose himself before she was looking up and her lips curled upwards, like she could read his thoughts.

“You’re slacking, Sanji-kun. I thought you’d abandoned me to peel potatoes all by myself,” she teased.

He smiled then. “Never, Nami-san. The day that happens I’d forfeit my own hands.”

She smiled back at him and they settled into comfortable silence as he sat on the stool opposite her, taking the knife she’d left out for him and grabbing a potato. There’s something relaxing about doing this. The same sweeps of the knife almost sent him into a trance and all the stress of the day bleeds from him as his mind wondered. He’d never found potato peeling a chore. It anything, he looked forward to the monotony of it.

He’s not sure how long they peel in the quiet of the kitchen, but he almost jumped as Nami started to quietly talk.

“The first time I offered to help, it was because I missed Bell-mére,” she said it softly and it should sound sad, but she sounded soft instead. “She used to get me peeling the potatoes when I had nothing to do or thought I’d studied for too long.”

Ah. Well, that answered one of Sanji’s questions. There was something quite special about not having to ask after the reason but being told instead. She wasn’t always very forthcoming about her childhood and he’d never blamed her; he hadn’t been either. It’s why he never enquired.

“You should have seen the first time I’d ever done it; you’d have turned in your grave. There was almost nothing left by the time it’d been peeled and I’d somehow managed to cut myself multiple times,” she continued, chuckling to herself and dropped a perfectly peeled potato into the steel bucket before moving onto the next one. “She hadn’t been angry though. Well, she had at my cut fingers, but she stopped what she was doing to show me how to peel the carrots next.”

“I’m not surprised she wasn’t angry. I can’t imagine being angry with you now, let alone when you were younger.” It was the truth; it was no secret that he was soft around children and he’d seen first-hand a young Nami- she was adorable. He’d have stood no chance.

Still doesn’t.

“What about you?” She asked tentatively, eyes flickering up to his, unsure about whether this was a topic that she should broach. That she could breach.

Sanji smiled lightly and answered with ease, his voice filled with fondness at the memory. “My Mum thought the world of whatever I made. Some of it was truly horrible, Nami-san, I’d had no training whatsoever apart from some tatty books and the opinions of mice.”

“I find that hard to believe- about being a horrible cook, that is. Feeding mice I’m totally on board with.”

He picked up another potato before he responded, “It’s true! There were pieces of eggshells in it, it was overcooked, yet also undercooked because I hadn’t set the oven properly.” There was a firm smile on his face though, despite the description he was giving.

“I sense this didn’t deter her,” she guessed, pausing the potato peeling as she waited for his response.

He laughed. “Not at all. She still boasted to the nurses and handmaids whenever she had the chance and when I was leaving, she’d tell me to bring some more next time.”

“Ah. So that’s where you get your kind heart from.” She nodded to herself, like she’d solved a piece of her own puzzle.

He tried to keep his cool, but he couldn’t stop the blush that bloomed across his cheeks. Instead of responding to that, he decided to continue on.

“On the cruise ship I worked on before Baratie, I was passable at best, but definitely better than the rest of the chefs. The real wakeup call was when I got to Baratie. Zeff was horrified by the bad habits I’d picked up and spent all his time picking on me.”

“Like what?” At his blank look she clarified, “How did he pick on you?”

“Ragging on me in front of staff and customers. To be fair, I probably needed to be taken down a peg or too. I couldn’t be told back then. Oh, and that damned peg leg, hurt like hell,” he groaned, recalling the way Zeff had kicked him when he’d wanted to throw away fresh food. “The worst, though, was the nickname- little eggplant. That’ll haunt me to my dying day. He had no tact, the damn old man, and he’d call me it regardless of who was around. Even the regulars knew of it.”

“Fatherly love, then,” she summarised, an affectionate smile on her face.

Sanji laughed but nodded his head. “Unfortunately so.”

They continued on like that, trading stories back and forth from their childhood. Not always revolving around cooking in Nami’s case, but small things, like the time she’d convinced Nojiko to let her cut in a fringe and her sister had wound up with a mullet until it grew out or how Sanji had singed his hair trying to show off around the oven.

The pile of unpeeled potatoes started to dwindle as the bucket with peeled potatoes filled up. Sanji was so lost in conversation that he hadn’t noticed until they were both reaching in for the last potato and as they both look at each other and down to the last potato, he felt a competitive thrill go through him. He managed to snag the potato just before she could, but she didn’t look sour about it, so he took that as a sign to crack on.

There were no more potatoes to peel but Nami still stayed sitting with him.

“So, what made you stick around?” It was ballsy and he was risking scaring her off, but it’s the one thing she hadn’t freely given during their conversation and he really wanted to know. To finally scratch the itch of curiosity.

Nami doesn’t respond straight away, she fiddled with the knife in her hands and it’s only for a second, but it felt like a lifetime to Sanji. He was holding his breath, waiting for some form of reaction from her.

She breathed out and finally looked at him. “I realised I enjoyed spending time with you.”

That’s not the explanation he’d expected. At all.

He has to fight down the urge to sputter off nonsense, it would not win him her favour. “I enjoy spending time with you too.”

“I didn’t doubt that for a second,” she said, her voice playful.

There’s a clever smile on her face and as much as he enjoyed that, he wanted her to know he was serious. He enjoyed _her_ company.

“I’m serious,” he hummed, not looking up from the final potato he’s peeling, and he might need to long this one out, just to keep himself busy, so he didn’t chicken out. “I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but you’ve only made it better with your company. I’ve never had an assistant before, but I’m glad it was you.”

Nami’s flushed and she looked like she was struggling on how to respond. He wondered if he’d gone too far. It’s not how he’d planned this evening to go and it’s clearly not what she’d intended either. Yet here they were.

“Because I’m a woman or…” She trailed off and the silent _‘because it’s me’_ is left in the air, but they both know it’s there. 

She’s watching his face carefully and he doesn’t know what to make of that. It felt like he was balancing on a tight rope and any wrong answer will have him plummeting without a safety net to catch him. The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable or put an end to their occasional kitchen activities together.

It almost sounded like a confession when he finally spoke, and he supposed it was.

“Because it’s you,” he said, his voice sure and face even.

The tension in the room increased tenfold and it felt like he needed to use one of the knifes to cut at it. It’s diffused instantly when Nami smiled softly at him and it sent his heart racing.

The next second she’s up on her feet, leaving their potato peeling bubble, like nothing happened. “We need to put these in water and into the fridge, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly, stunned by the sudden shift. What had even just happened?

She walked into the kitchen, pulling out a much smaller container and filling it with water. She turned and raised an eyebrow as he’s still sitting there. He realised a beat later that she’s waiting for him to follow after her with the potatoes. Who was the professional chef here? He was on his feet in seconds before he could be prompted any further and they fall back into their normal pace, like nothing had happened.

… Had anything happened? He’s going to need some time alone to replay this scene and figure it out.

As soon as he’s done putting the potatoes away safely in the bottom of the fridge, ready for tomorrow, Nami’s done washing up the knives they’d used and then it’s just them, alone in the kitchen.

Nami’s leaning against the kitchen unit, arms folded and looking at him expectantly, because she doesn’t look like she’s leaving anytime soon. It made him nervous and he resisted the urge to play with his hands.

“Thank you for your help, Nami-san,” he said gratefully, and he really meant it. He hoped she knew that, that it came across.

“Anytime, Sanji-kun.” She pushed away from the counter to walk towards him and he’s frozen, watching her get closer and closer until he had to tilt his head down to keep looking at her face.

Her hands are on his tie and he realised after a beat that she’s adjusting it. He’d loosened it earlier, like he always did this late at night and she knew that too. He wondered if this was an excuse to touch him, but he squashed that thought down as quickly as it appeared. Maybe it just looked weird.

Her hands are warm and as she played with his tie, they brush against his chest and it sent his heart into fits.

When she looked up at him, seemingly happy with the end result, and she’s _so close_ that he could count the fair freckles that litter her nose if he wanted to. And he really wanted to, but he’s distracted by the way her eyes are searching his. She looked expectant and he didn’t know what to do with that. Or what she wanted.

Nami lingered, her hands still clasping his tie lightly but resting against his chest idly and he’s stopped breathing because it’s all slightly overwhelming and he didn’t want the moment to break before he figured out what he’s supposed to be doing. The voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to _‘make a move, you idiot’,_ but he can’t bring himself to act on it. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s building this up to be something bigger than it actually is?

There’s another long moment where he can practically feel her breath on his face before she’s pulling away and he’s instantly regretting not acting on what the voice had told him because he felt like he’d just missed his moment.

The smirk on her face made him wonder if that’s not the case at all.

She released his tie and patted his chest before taking a step back. He missed the closeness already.

“Goodnight, Sanji,” she said lowly and then she’s turning around, walking towards the door.

The door swung closed behind her and for the first time in hours, he’s left alone in the kitchen. The scent of her perfume is still under his nose and the skin under his shirt burned from where she’d touched him.

He’s not sure what’s just happened. From the atmosphere to her new behaviour, he’s left reeling trying to catch up. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but this seemed to be a new development… towards something.

But right now, it’s late and his brains just turned to mush, so he’s not figuring it out now. He just hoped he could get his mind to settle down enough that he’d be able to actually sleep.

He flicked the kitchen light off behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. The tiny little drabble this was supposed to be has now turned into a two part-er. I messaged Momo when I’d almost finished writing the first part and gave her two possible endings to choose from when this was originally a one-shot. Momo picked one and my brain betrayed me (and my other WIPs) by going ‘do both’. So here we are. 
> 
> The second part is almost finished- I’m aiming for it to be up in a week max. 
> 
> Please excuse any errors. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	2. Cooking in the kitchen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I gave myself a week to update, which seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, except I didn’t factor in that I’d just written a 15k story and the first chapter to this beforehand. Needless to say, not much writing was done in that week but better late than never, right? 
> 
> I had to learn how to make marmalade and duck l’mikan for this story, all for you Momo!
> 
> Enjoy.

Sanji looked down at the ripped and stained little piece paper that was handed to him with nothing but warmth. The penmanship was atrocious, and years of love had blurred the writing, but he knows exactly what this is and the deeper meaning behind it.

A handed down, family recipe.

Bell-mère’s recipe.

Nami had never shared this with him before now and he’d never taken that personally. As a chef he knew how personal these were and that these were about more than just the food. It was sentimental. But he’d heard whispers about this infamous dish, Nami had mentioned it in passing and that Bell-mère would make it on special occasions when talking about their childhoods. It’s why he’d never tried to recreate it without her say so and had stuck to other mikan based dishes.

It had all started when she’d walked in just after lunch and asked if he’d started preparing for dinner. When he’d answered in the negative, she’d thrust the recipe towards him and said that he could be her assistant for the evening if he was game. He was more than game. He wanted it more than anything and had nodded far too quickly, showing just how eager he was. Luckily, she hadn’t said anything about that, to his relief.

Now he was looking over the recipe with the critical eye of a chef before they started, he didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Nami, especially not when this was his field of expertise. He’d be a fool any other time for her, but not now.

He wanted to impress her.

He looked through the method, from cooking the duck to making the mikan marmalade and nodded to himself. it was a very well written recipe, despite the state of the much-loved paper.

His eye caught something, and he bit back a groan. “Nami-san, please tell me you’ve made this before, and you know what ‘secret ingredient’ means?”

It was one of the biggest issues with handed down recipes, especially if they’d already been passed through a fair few generations. It’s what made them family recipes after all, a special ingredient or certain mixture that made the dish unique. But what may seem self-explanatory to begin with when it’s originally handed down, started to get lost further down the line.

Nami frowned and it didn’t fill him with much hope, but as she stood next to him to peer down at the recipe in his hands she laughed. “Oh! That’s just Bell-mère’s mikans. They’re one of a kind, you can’t get them anywhere else, you know,” she told him proudly, mirth in her eyes.

“Oh thank god,” he sighed in relief. He was an outstanding chef, he knew that, but even he wouldn’t be able to figure that one out.

“Breathe, Sanji-kun, you’re in good hands. I know what I’m doing,” she said teasingly, winking at him and squeezing his hand.

He ignored the way his hand tingled her at touch and smiled widely. “I’m at your mercy, lead the way, Nami-san!” He said with a dramatic flourish of his hands, gesturing for her to start as he bowed slightly, and she giggled in response.

It’d been a week since that night in the kitchen peeling potatoes and something had changed… but also not. Nothing was verbally said, but Nami was different with him. Friendlier, perhaps? She stood closer to him, touched him more and there was occasionally a look on her face that he couldn’t decipher.

He thought he knew what it meant, but he didn’t want to overstep the invisible line and ruin whatever it is this was. He’d aired his feelings that night, at least it felt like he had, and she hadn’t accepted or denied his feelings. And that was fine, because honestly it was just a relief to know she still wanted to be around him. He was happy to have whatever he was given.

But it left him in this weird limbo, where he didn’t know how to react to her touches or her flirtatious words. The flirtatious words weren’t completely new, he knew she’d lay it on thick when she wanted something, and he was more than happy to concede to her whims. Maybe it was more accurate to say that the context had changed. It happened when she didn’t want anything, they could be in conversation and she’d say something that’d make him splutter and then moved on like nothing had happened. It was both wonderful and embarrassing.

He was brought out of his musings when her hand came to rest on his arm to get his attention. “Ready?” She asked, holding out an apron for him with her other hand.

“More than ready,” he replied with confidence and she smirked back at him.

It was clear she’d made this recipe many times before and he was truly impressed. Which didn’t say very much in truth, he was always impressed by her, but this time, he was impressed as a chef. She moved with such confidence and fluidity, hardly ever looking at the recipe on the paper.

Not only that, they moved around each other with such ease; moving to the side before the other had to ask, passing the other the ingredient they were after, it was like they’d been working together for years.

Before he knew it, the duck was in the oven for the first cook, pricked and seasoned.

“So, what we need to do now is make some more marmalade, we have enough for dinner, but we won’t any left after that, and then make the orange sauce once the duck’s done it’s second cook,” Sanji said, mentally checking off the list of things still left to do in his head.

He stopped at the bland look Nami was giving him and then it clicked. “Sorry, you’re in charge. What do you want to do next, Nami-san?”

“Thank you,” she replied tartly, in jest. “So, what we need to do now is make some extra marmalade, because we’ll have none after this and then the orange sauce. But I don’t suggest we make that until the duck’s finished its second cook,” she finished smartly, eyebrows raised and looking pleased with herself. Almost as if daring him to say something.

“Excellent suggestion! This is why you’re the chef and I’m the lowly assistant,” he praised, more than happy to play into the joke.

Nami laughed then and he’d been right, playing into the joke was more than worth it when her sunny smile soon turned on him.

“Right then, you scrub the mikans and I’ll measure out the water and bring it to the boil,” she instructed and then they were back into the task once again.

They were back to moving around each other as the mikans were placed into the boiling water to simmer until they were soft and Sanji was getting the pre-peeled potatoes out of the fridge to cut and get ready for roasting. There were a few moments in-between where Nami would stand just that bit too close or lean into him to see what he was doing and he had to remind himself to focus, to not think about how warm she felt or how nice she smelt. It was a challenge to say the least.

The scent of the duck was soon wafting through the kitchen and Sanji was kneeling down beside Nami to check the duck. He praised her technique when she wiggled the leg to check how it was cooking, and she told him how Bell-mère had shown her when she was young.

“If you’d do the honours,” she asked, stepping away from the oven to grab a bowl for the duck fat to be drained.

He was more than happy to comply as he lifted the grate the duck was sitting on and drained the fat from the tray beneath. “Using me for my muscles, huh?” He joked as he placed the duck back onto the tray and into the oven for the second cook.

“Just _one_ of the perks of having you around,” she said coyly, looking up at him from under half-lidded eyes and _oh god_ , it felt like he couldn’t breathe. His tie definitely felt too tight right now. He gulped heavily and her eyes traced down to watch the action, which only made it worse.

And then he was free as she turned around as if nothing had happened. He was going to end up with whiplash at this rate, although he couldn’t complain too much. He was enjoying this. This couldn’t be his imagination at this point, right?

By then the mikans were soft and once they were out of the water, Nami and Sanji were both scooping out the innards to put into the muslin bag. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Nami’s eyebrows pinched together and she looked so focused on the task, to get all the innards out and into the bag. She must have felt it as her gaze shifted to him and her focused determination shifted into something softer. He felt like a little boy being caught stealing biscuits from the jar before dinner and his eyes were shooting back to the mikan in his hands as a flush worked onto his cheeks.

“Okay, I’m done. We need to cut the rind next,” Nami said and when he eventually made eye contact, he was faced with an all too knowing look on her face, something that did nothing to help the heat on his cheeks.

He cleared his throat then. “Fine or chunky?” He knew she liked it finely cut but she was in charge and he’d always indulge her.

“Fine, please.” She beamed up at him.

His hands moved the knife swiftly through the rinds with precision, gliding across the board and watching as the pieces got smaller and smaller with each cut. That was until he could feel eyes on him and was met by Nami’s piercing gaze from the corner of his eye. He hummed at her in question.

“I can work a knife well enough, but not like that. I’m a bit jealous,” Nami admitted, watching the knife glide across with board with no hesitation.

“Years of practice,” he reassured, “And plenty of cut fingers. In the early days Zeff wouldn’t let me do anything but chop. Said I had to get the basics right first and at the time I resented him for it, but now I get it.”

“I don’t fancy cutting my fingers, but any tips?”

Sanji smiled at that. “I don’t blame you. We couldn’t possibly damage Nami-san’s gorgeous hands.” Nami laughed at that and elbowed him good naturedly on the arm. “But if you tuck your fingertips under, you can move quicker without the risk of chopping them off. Much harder to cut yourself but if you do, the worst you’ll do is take the skin off.”

Then his hand was over hers, showing her how to place her fingers and his eyes were nervously shooting up to her face. It was ridiculous, they’d touched each other multiple times, she’d certainly had no qualms about touching him, yet he still worried about pushing it too far. This felt intimate and he didn’t want to overstretch the elastic band until it snapped. Yet she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking down at her own hands and moving them accordingly.

She started cutting again when he moved away and although it was nowhere near as quick or precise as him, it was a vast improvement. “See!”

“I know you’re just humouring me-” she rolled her eyes “-but I’ll take it.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere!”

The muslin bag was added back into the water with the sliced mikan rinds. Nami started adding the sugar and stirring it to dissolve it. With everything going on, the kitchen was slowly getting hotter and hotter. Sanji had already removed his jacket but he used the quiet moment to roll up his sleeves to his elbows and loosen his tie. It’d probably make more sense to remove his vest, but he didn’t miss the way Nami’s eyes lingered over it when she thought he wasn’t watching. So that would be the last thing to go, if he really had to.

“How often did you make this when you were younger?” He normally didn’t ask questions about her childhood unless she brought it up first, but he felt they’d passed that barrier. This was a bit of a test to see whether it was true.

“Every Sunday. It was cheap to make and Bell-mère enjoyed cooking with us. We’d have it on toast for breakfast for the week coming.”

Sanji let her talk as she stopped stirring the simmering marmalade and he moved to add the duck fat to the potatoes to put them in the oven with the duck.

“Afterwards,” Nami paused briefly and Sanji understood exactly what she meant, “I’d make it with Nojiko when I’d go home. It’s like she knew I was coming; everything would be ready for when I arrived,” Nami smiled fondly, leaning back against the counter.

The duck would be done in a few minutes, but before then they had a marmalade to finish. He grabbed the dishes he’d put into the freezer earlier and Nami joined him when he set them on the side next to the simmering marmalade.

“You know how to check this?”

“Of course, I’m a marmalade connoisseur, were you not listening?” She teased and hip checked him cheekily, to which he breathed out a laugh and handed her a spoon.

He wondered if the heat and the few hours they’d spent hauled in the kitchen were getting to them. They giggled like schoolgirls as the bickered playfully back and forth about whether the marmalade was set as they poked and prodded it. It wasn’t the most professional thing to be doing but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. It was always lovely to see her like this. Especially around him.

The playful atmosphere dispersed as quickly as it’d arrived when Nami lifted her thumb to her mouth to lick the marmalade off. His mouth suddenly felt too dry. The scene before him played out in slow motion in his head and he was left wondering if it did for her too. It certainly didn’t help that she maintained eye contact as she did it, her tongue darting out to lick away at the marmalade there and he couldn’t believe he was jealous of a thumb right now.

All of his reservations were flying out of the window in the next moment as he suddenly crowded her, all of her teasing over the past week and today coming to a head. It was sink or swim… and was she leaning into him?

Any speck of confidence that he’d had in that moment deflated as the oven beeped at them and he was both cursing and thanking the oven. He’d either just missed his moment ( _again_ ) or was saved from messing this all up. He hated how he swung between both scenarios so quickly.

“I’ll get the duck,” he croaked as he took a step back and smooth his apron out, just to give his hands something to do.

Nami nodded at him and turned back to the marmalade to start spooning it into glass jars.

Did she look disappointed?

The atmosphere in the kitchen was awkward and there was no avoiding it, even as he took the duck out and she soaked the pot in the sink. It was deafening and his brain was left scrambling on how to rectify it quickly.

As he put the duck on top of the cooker, he settled on apologising. He’d overstepped, he could hardly call himself a gentleman if he didn’t.

The apology was on the tip of his tongue as he turned to face her but died a quick death when he realised how close she was to him.

“You have sauce here. No idea how you managed that,” Nami said and _got even closer, so, so close,_ as her hand reached for him.

When she wiped sauce from the corner of his mouth, he finally broke, any self-doubt crumbling around him and falling to the floor. The act was so intimate, her hand cupping his jaw and her thumb lingering at the side of face and she’s so close to him that he moved without really thinking.

He leaned down to press a tentative, albeit clumsy, kiss to her lips. He didn’t manage to land it fully on her lips, slightly off centre, but there was no mistaking what he’s done.

He’s both relieved, for finally doing something that’s plagued his mind for a week, but terrified because he could still be wrong. He stopped breathing as he pulled away.

“Have I overstepped?” He’s terrified to ask, but he has to.

Nami doesn’t pull away in disgust like he thought she would, or worse slap him, but she also doesn’t say anything for a second. He’s stunned her it seemed, so maybe that slap could still be coming.

It doesn’t.

The expression melted off after a second and he watched her eyes warm and her lips slowly curve upward, and he never wanted to look at anything else ever again.

He’s watching her lips as they part to breath out a murmured, “Finally,” and then she’s tugging him down by his tie to press their lips softly together this time.

Any hesitancy flew out of the window as Nami initiated the second kiss and his hands are on her back, somewhat confidently, to bring her in closer.

The second kiss is nowhere near as clumsy as the first when Sanji got to take his time with it and take his time he would. This is all he’d ever dreamed of since meeting the woman in his arms and he’d savour and stretch this moment for as long as he was allowed to.

He was in no hurry as he pressed their lips back together in a series of pecks, lips moving languidly against the others as they found their rhythm. Sanji felt like he was sinking, her lips were so soft, and her hands were so warm as they released his tie to smooth over his chest. Although he’d wanted to keep the pace slow, he couldn’t help it when his tongue brushed against the seal in her lips.

And closed mouth kisses soon turned into open mouth kisses. Something that he should have done much sooner. She tasted of the marmalade they’d made, and he couldn’t think of a better way to try it for the first time. He chased after the taste, groaning when her tongue reciprocated in kind. Her hands left his chest, travelling up to play with the hair at nape of his neck and his hands sunk to her hips to squeeze at the feeling of her playing with his hair. 

He hadn’t even realised that she’d been walking them back until her back hit the counter and he could finally press against her as tightly as he wanted to. Everything about this felt amazing, her taste, her touch. His previous fantasies could never have lived up to the real thing.

He pulled back briefly to let them breath, but it was a short interlude before he was kissing her again.

It wasn’t nearly long enough when Nami tried to pull away, muffling a quiet, “Sanji”, against his lips that did nothing but encourage him.

“Sanji,” she said louder this time, winding down the kissing into pecks again. “There’s still sauce to make, marmalade to put away and potatoes to deal with,” she reminded him, her hands leaving his hair to rest on his shoulders and put a bit of space between them. He didn’t let her go too far, but he did move his hands to her waist- a more sensible placement whilst he tried to compose himself and actually acknowledge what she was saying.

“You should think about adding this step into the cooking method,” he teased after a second. He could spare another moment before he had to act semi-professional again and finish dinner.

“You’re an awful assistant, Sanji-kun, distracting the chef like this,” she jokingly scolded him as she half-heartedly slapped his shoulder.

“Oh, you wound me, Nami-san.” One of hands clasped over his heart dramatically and Nami snorted in response.

“Far too distracting,” she said, her hands snaking down to him back to play with the fabric of his waistcoat. He knew it.

“Like you’re one to talk.” Eyes skimming across the apron that’d teased him throughout that day, he was far too into it considering what it was.

He leaned back in to press another lingering kiss to her lips. He would do it; he would step away and get back to work. He tried to convince himself, but it was getting harder and harder to as the seconds ticked by. In his defence, she kissed him back. She pulled away from the kiss a second later, like she’d read his mind, and covered his eager lips with her hand to stop him pressing forward again.

“No slacking in my kitchen, little eggplant,” she murmured against his jaw, planting a kiss there afterwards- like that was going to help him focus.

He froze at her words. _Oh god_. He didn’t know whether he was going to faint or have a heart attack. He was confident he’d be able to pull off both. Only Nami could make that nickname sound sexy.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that,” Sanji breathed back, sightly muffled behind her hand. 

“Good or bad?” She asked, curious, and pulled her hand away to rest back on his shoulder.

“Good because you make it sound _so good_ , but bad because I have to fight off the images of Zeff.”

“You’re making it sound like a challenge to change that.”

Oh god. _Oh god_. He wouldn’t be able to face Zeff ever again if she had her way. And he wasn’t sure if that was something to complain about or not. It wasn’t, he decided quickly, it was stupid to even entertain thinking of that negatively. He’d probably beg for it too, that’s just how powerful she was. 

She smiled up at him, like she knew exactly what she was doing, and she probably did.

He was rewarded with one last kiss, short and sweet, before she was stepping away and ordering him on how to make the sauce. Back to business. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

This might just beat peeling potatoes with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I ever going to get over confession stories? Probably not.
> 
> As always, please excuse any errors.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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